


Master of Chaos

by TheDeksels



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Dark Harry, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-21 22:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11367162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeksels/pseuds/TheDeksels
Summary: Harry had always loved Chaos.  Creating chaos or just being the eye of the storm gave him the greatest pleasure.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first fic that I am posting... No clue if its any good or not.. No idea where its going either. Let me know if you like it ;).

Prologue

He stood there in silence.  Watching everything move and continue without anyone noticing his presence.  The Great Hall was always packed on Halloween, always loud and boisterous.  He stood in a corner without anyone acting any different.  The Gryffindors shouting at one another as if they were worlds apart, the Ravenclaws for once not engrossed in books, the Huffelpuffs chatting about how wonderful Professor Flitwick’s decorations were this year and even the Slytherins were conversing instead of their normal silent, stoic behavior.

The teachers were cheering at the Weasley twins’ latest spectacle.  They had made a jack o lantern sing one of the Weird Sisters song while trying to dance a waltz.  The sight could send anyone into hysterics almost immediately.

Except one.

The one standing in the corner. 

He never enjoyed Halloween. Not since he learned that is was on Halloween that his parents had been taken from him.  Many people would just forget that ten years ago he lost his parents to the war.  That ten years ago he was proclaimed the “Saviour of the Wizarding World”.  He didn’t feel like a savior now.  He felt like a trophy.  One that had been left in a corner to become home to maggots and rodents.  One that would only be dusted off when it was needed.

Like it would be in ten seconds.

He noticed things that others had missed since the beginning of the feast.  How professor Quirrel hadn’t even shown, how Hermione was missing, how Draco was sitting in the middle of the table.  How Professor Dumbledore had nodded to Snape as he left the Hall, how Susan Bones accepted a note from Hannah Abbot.  How the twins were carefully checking their map for any signs of danger, how they had glanced in his direction and given him a 3 minute headstart.

Five seconds left.

Ron was still gouging his face with the carefully caramelized apples, Neville was looking away in disgust and made a motion to Seamus that others would think crude.  But it was really a signal.

Three

Two

One

The doors of the Great Hall burst open with a force that blew wind into the face of those closest.  Professor Quirrell ran in heart pounding and sheer terror on his face.

“TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!”

Silence met his outburst.

“Thought everyone should know.” With that Quirrell collapsed in between the middle two tables.

Chaos. Chaos was his favourite emotion to see in other people, and the students of Hogwarts were ripe with it.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had always been a silent child.  He didn’t scream when his aunt hit him in the head with a frying pan.  He didn’t call out for help when Dudley and his friends found him in a dark alley.  He didn’t yell at his teacher when she called him stupid and useless.  He didn’t even make a sound when Uncle Vernon had whipped him for no particular reason.  They didn’t matter to him, so why should he give them the satisfaction of verbally expressing his pain?

Silently, he had grown in a way that they never thought possible.  In the dead of night, he would come alive.  Once when Harry was five, he had escaped from his cupboard and grabbed fifty pounds out of Uncle Vernon’s jacket pocket (he would never even notice it missing) and made his way to the edge of London.  There, he made a top hat appear out of nowhere and his rags of clothing became a black velvet jacket with tails and a crisp white shirt with a bow-tie.  His shoes were all of a sudden brand new and shiny.  He created a walking stick and walked with the pride and elegance that could only come with practice.  Except he hadn’t had any.

 _First things first,_ he thought to himself, _Food._   He travelled all the way to a little café his aunt had spoken of with Mrs. Figg on the edge of the river Thames close to the Big Ben.  Once there he settled in a little corner booth and ordered a large hot chocolate and their dinner special.  The waitress didn’t seem to notice she was serving a child.  After paying twenty pounds for his meal, he asked where the best book store was in a ten-kilometer radius.  The waitress directed him Oxfam Victoria, not even two blocks away.  He thanked her and walked there with no hurry.  Surprised that the book store was actually open at that time of night, he entered and selected around ten study books of different genres.  One medical, because Uncle Vernon had taken to beating and breaking his bones as of late, a few of Science, Mathematics, English and Greek, due to his love of languages and learning.  He also found a book on the customs of old English people, which he figured would be an interesting read if nothing else.

He returned to his relatives’ house at nearly three in the morning with a packet containing his books and ten pounds to spare.  He decided that it was a night well spent and settled down in his cot to sleep.

The next morning Aunt Petunia woke him as usual, at six, to make breakfast and to start the day.  That day was the first of November and it had been four long years since he had first arrived on their doorstep.  It was also the day that Harry started learning his heritage.  And he never stopped.

* * *

 

“SILENCE!” screamed Dumbledore at the chaotic great hall.

Everyone stopped and stared at him.  Calmly, he told the prefects to take their students to their respective dormitories and that the teachers would follow him to the dungeons to rid the school of the troll.

Chatter started up again as the prefects followed their orders.  Harry slipped out of the great hall first and went to the bathroom where he had felt Hermione crying.  If the troll couldn’t find the teachers first, it would smell Hermione and her tears before it smelt anything else.

“Hermione,” he called out when he reached the bathroom.

“What do you want? This is the girls bathroom! Go away!” she replied hoarsely.

“Okay, I thought you’d just like to know that there is a troll on the loose and I would be willing to escort you to the dorms.  But I’ll leave you be now.”  He waited a beat, then two, then started walking.

“Wait!” she appeared at the door and he turned around to look at her puffy red eyes.  “What do you mean there’s a troll on the loose?”

As the words left her lips, there was a roar and then came the smell of an adult mountain troll.

“That,” Harry said pointing, “is what I mean by there is a troll on the loose.”  Hermione, however, was not listening to him as she stared at the massive troll with a dumb expression on her face.  Then she screamed.

“Now, now.  Don’t do that, you’ll just attract him to you even more.” Harry said, looking not at all bothered by the troll’s presence.  He knew it was coming, he felt it.

Hermione still wasn’t paying any attention to him, and neither was the troll.  It was looking much more interested in Hermione who was still screaming.

Harry clasped a hand around her shoulder and the action surprised her so much that she jumped and stopped screaming.  She looked at him, and he whispered in her ear.

“Run.”  Was the only thing he said, but it got her moving.  She ran in the opposite direction of the troll.  And it lumbered toward her with his club in hand.

“Oh dear, now what do I do with you?”  Harry walked to the middle of the hallway and the troll stopped just in front of him.

The troll looked confused.  It was a peculiar expression on a troll.  One dark green eyebrow was raised, making both eyes look the same size.  Harry wondered if all trolls had different sized eyes.  Of course, this was only the first troll he had encountered.  He would have to remember to check the next time he came across a troll.  He turned his attention back to the troll just in time to see it raise its club.

“No, no, none of that now.” He said and fingered his wand. “Put it down.”  No one else would believe him if he told them that the troll actually complied.

“Good boy, now sit.”  The sound of the troll’s weight hitting the floor reverberated throughout the entire hallway as it sat cross-legged and looked at Harry with adoring eyes.

Hermione looked back to see Harry actually standing on the troll’s arm and petting it like a dog!  As she rounded the corner, she ran into one disgusted looking Professor Snape.  She emitted a disbelieving oomf and landed on her bottom.  He gave one disparaging look and was about to ask what she was doing out of the dorms when he heard his name being called around the corner.

“Ah, Professor Snape, just in time.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after the line break there's a bit of child abuse.. If you don't like don't read. enjoy :)

Severus froze.  He knew that voice.  That voice had tormented him for the past two months.  It had featured in his dreams, and at breakfast, and at dinner and every time he saw the brat that that voice belonged to.  It addressed him again.

“Please come around the corner Professor Snape.  There is something you should see.”

Slowly, ignoring the witch on the floor in front of him, he rounded the corner and gasped in shock.

“It seems, Professor, that the troll likes me.” Harry told him with an innocent smile.

The brat with the tantalizing voice was sitting on the bicep of a mountain troll with a stupid grin on him face as if nothing was at all strange about the situation.

“What, Potter, are you doing?” He asked the boy slowly, as if talking to someone demented.

“I believe I am sitting on a troll, Professor.”

“Why are you sitting on a troll, Potter?”

“It’s rather comfortable here.  Why else?”

Severus had to hold in his reaction.  This boy would be the death of him.  “Get down from there!” He screamed at the insolent child.

“Professor…”  Harry didn’t move.  He was watching the troll’s expression carefully.

“No! Get down from there immediately!  Detention for disobeying a teacher!”  Severus didn’t notice the rising temper of the troll.

“Umm, Professor…” 

“Are you still not listening to me boy?!  Detention for the next week and fifty house points!”

“SEVERUS!”  Harry had finally garnered Severus’ attention.  He never called him by him first name. It would ruin the surprise that Harry had. It also meant that something bad was going to happen.  His eyes slid from Harry to the troll.  He took a slow step back.  The troll’s nostrils were flaring, its mouth was set in a scowl.

Severus took another step back.

“Calm down, boy.  He’s just playing.”  Harry was soothing the troll.  He was actually trying to mollify a fully-grown mountain troll as if it were a peaceful kitten. Harry spoke some more sweet nothings into the troll’s ear and it visibly calmed down.  Severus made sure to remain completely still.

“Professor Snape, could you please lead the way out of the castle?  I will make sure that the troll follows.”  For once, Severus was too stunned to do anything else but what he was told.  He started walking down the corridor and surprisingly the troll followed.  Then he remembered the young Miss Granger who was still on the floor around the corridor.

He pulled out his wand, but it was the wrong move to make.  The troll roared behind him and started charging.

“ENOUGH!  Bad boy, stop doing that!”  Harry had jumped off the troll’s arm and landed in front of him staring into the troll’s face witch his emerald green eyes. The troll stopped in its tracks, again.

“Good, now stay there.  Professor Snape, why did you pull out your wand?”  Harry turned around to Severus who just pointed around the corner.  He didn’t want to speak as the troll was easily aggravated.

“Oh, Hermione.”  Harry had followed the professor’s finger to the young witch who was still sprawled out on the floor.  She seemed to be in shock.

“Hermione, please go back to the dorms.”  Harry had spoken calmly and Hermione had slowly gotten to her feet and walked away from the situation as if in a dream.  Luna had met her on the other side of the corridor, gave Harry a curtsy, and continued on towards the safety of the dorms.

Harry turned to Severus, “Lead on Professor.” And with a smile signaled to the troll to start walking forwards.  With a curt nod, Severus lead them both out to the forest. He turned to Harry and told him that the detentions would be revoked (completely ignoring the house points), due to the situation, curtly nodded and turned back towards the castle for a string glass of firewhiskey.

Harry looked at the troll, “Good bye, my friend.  There is a lovely clearing a few miles that way-” he pointed deep into the forest “-and I will come visit you when I can.”

The troll gave him a mournful look and waited for a few moments for Harry to pat him on the arm, and then he plodded in the direction he was told. Harry had an uneventful trip back to the castle whistling a tune as he went and his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

As soon as he entered the portrait, he was accosted by Hermione.  “Harry, we need to talk.”

* * *

 

The first day Harry Potter and his cousin Dudley went to school, was a day that neither of them would forget.  Dudley immediately went over to his friend Piers and left Harry all alone, but for the first time not in rags. Aunt Petunia had had to buy Harry his own uniform, as there were no cast off from her precious, little Dudders.

Of course, Harry had suffered the full wrath of Uncle Vernon when Dudley tore his new, white school shirt and decided it was a brilliant mud bucket.  Uncle Vernon had raged for a week on Harry that he was just a waste of money and resources and that they should have dumbed his ungrateful body by the nearest orphanage possible.  Harry had more chores and less food that week than ever before.  He washed his new, now stained, shirt until it was a sort of egg-white colour, and had stolen Aunt Petunia’s sewing kit to patch up the hole.  He still thought it was worth it.  His pants fit, and he had even gotten a new underwear.  The jersey also covered the dirtiness of is shirt.  He was for once grateful that he lived in Britain, where it was chilly in September.

Harry was in a class of twenty four kids.  Unfortunately, Dudley was in the same class as him.  The teacher thought that they would be less shy that way, as such all the related students were in the same class. She noticed however that Dudley seemed to be boisterous in every situation and that Harry was cowed in every situation.  They started with English, and started writing out the letter ‘a’.  Dudley grabbed the pen with chubby fingers and pressed so hard on the sheet of paper that it tore straight through.  Harry on the other hand daintily picked up the pen as if it was the best thing every given to him and perfected each letter he wrote.

The teacher was amazed, she had never seen a six-year-old with that much patience or dexterity.  Dudley on the other hand was angry.  His cousin was better than he was!  It just wasn’t allowed.  So, at lunch time Dudley had spoken to Piers, and together they developed a new game.  Harry-hunting.  They found Harry sitting on a swing and immediately threw him off.  Harry did the only thing he could think of, he ran.  He was running so fast that his cousin’s fat legs wobbled with trying to keep up.  He wished he could get away fast enough.  He wished he could be somewhere where no one would bother him.  He closed his eyes.  All of a sudden, the sounds from the playground stopped.  He opened his eyes and almost fell of the roof from shock.  How did he get here?  How could he get back?  He concentrated a moment and the he was back on the playground.

Everyone was staring at the spot that he had appeared. “FREAK!” they all shouted out.  All their fingers pointing towards him, the teacher started to approach him.  She hadn’t noticed his sudden appearance.  Harry waited for the blow to land.  His uncle had hit him so many times, he didn’t know why he expected anything different from different adults.  But nothing had hit him. The teacher was standing in front of him with cross eyes.  She was telling him to follow her to the principal’s office.

Principle Heathers was a good person.  He treated all the kids under his tuition with the same cordiality.  All his teachers were paid well and he was almost never bothered by the grade zero teacher.  Today was the first.  The teacher had told him what had happened on the playground and he looked at her in shock.  Surely kids that age were not that cruel. Then he turned to Harry.  He asked what had happened, Harry said nothing.  He asked why the kids had called him a freak, Harry said nothing.  Principle Heathers looked at the teacher, she shrugged back.  He did the only thing he knew of, he phoned the Dursely’s.  As he was speaking on the phone, Harry was looking out the window.  He wondered what his uncle would use tonight, the whip or the belt.  A few minutes later the bell rang and the teacher went back to her classroom.  Harry sat in one of the principle’s chairs and waited.  His feet couldn’t touch the ground, but he kept them still.  He was staring at his hands in his lap.  The principle told his that Aunt Petunia would be here soon.  He was waiting.  Soon he heard the tell-tale sounds of his aunt’s new shoes in the corridor. They stopped outside the door.  A knock came, the door opened and closed.  Harry kept staring at his hands.

The principle and his aunt talked. Then his aunt grabbed his wrist, the touch startled him and he jumped.  His aunt didn’t pay attention. She dragged him to the car and told him to get in.  He did as he was told.  When they got home, he was thrown in his cupboard and left there.  He didn’t even make it to his mathematics period.

He waited some more.  He had the vague impression that his aunt was screaming at him.  He tuned it out.  He couldn’t tell what the time was, so he didn’t want to pull out one of his books in case Uncle Vernon was close to home.  He heard Aunt Petunia talk with Piers’ mother on the phone, Dudley wanted to go home with Piers.  His aunt said it was fine.  Harry started retreating to the back of his mind.  His eyes falling closed as he lay on his cot.  What was he?  The question burned like a knife in his head.  If he asked his aunt or uncle he would get punished.  Asking Dudley didn’t even cross his mind.  His teacher seemed to be on his aunt and uncle’s side.  He decided to wait. He had no one who would answer the question, so what was the point of asking it?

He woke to a car door banging closed.  Uncle Vernon was home.  His uncle opened the front door and kissed Aunt Petunia hello.  His hung his coat up and put his briefcase on the floor.  Then he stalked to the cupboard door.  Harry tensed, how could he not?  Light flooded into the cupboard and Harry blinked several times to get used to it.

“Come here, boy!”  His uncle roared.  He got up from his cot and walked out.

“Up the stairs with you!”  His uncle ordered.  He proceeded up the stairs, it never helped to disobey direct orders, that would only make it worse.

Once up the stairs he went to the last room on the landing.  It was his punishment room.  He walked in and removed his clothes.  No sense of getting them ripped of his body.  This had happened enough time so that he knew what to expect.  He cuffed his hand to the wall and bent over.  He wondered how many scars he would receive tonight.  Probably twenty. Maybe more if he did something wrong.  His uncle walked in behind him and closed the door.

This room was built onto the property when he was dropped on the door step.  It was sound-proof, not that that made any difference, Harry only screamed the first time.  It was a small room with a drain in the middle.  Harry had to clean the room when his punishment was finished.  It was always caked with blood.  There was a chain with cuffs attached to one wall, where Harry was now.  They were situated so that Harry would have to bend in half to place his hands in the cuffs, as he always had to.

Uncle Vernon walked over to the wall adjacent to Harry’s.  There were different punishment tools lined up on the shelf.  Whips of different materials, floggers, a spanking paddle and a few meters of rope.  Uncle Vernon grabbed the spanking paddle first.

“Twenty blows, and you count them out loud, Boy!” Uncle Vernon proceeded to spank him.  Every now and then Harry would miss a count because his uncle would hit too fast for him to count.  By the end of the twenty five hits, his bum was red and raw.  But he didn’t fool himself into believing that was the end.  True enough, his uncle placed the paddle back in its spot and grab the whip made of elephant leather.

“Ten lashes, boy! And don’t come make your aunt come and fetch you from school again!”  The whip cut into his skin like a knife through butter.  Harry remained still, moving too much would convince his uncle to hit him more.

Two

Three

Four

Five

His uncle stopped to catch his breath.  Ten seconds later he started on the last five.  As the tenth blow hit, his uncle flung the whip in his direction. With orders to clean the room and make dinner, he left without much fanfare.

A single tear ran down Harry’s face, and he wondered this torture would last.


End file.
